Decadent Lines

The brawling lights in the sky turn azure,
While I sit here and put pen to
parchment-
Confounded, befuddled and wholly
unsure
Of little or any literary
improvement.

I wake to the tumultuous call of
birds-
To see that daylight has not made
its arrival;
I sit by my window and think of
the herds,
Herds of lines marching onwards
to their burials.

Daylight glares, blinding my
sight-
A tempest brews beneath my
breast,
Founded upon emotions on wrong or
right...
No! I must lay thee, my pen, to
rest!

The brawling lights in the
sky turn orange-
The Sun has now a diminished
radiance;
My reason and morality
derange-
While I write with increased
decadence.

-Dolashree K Mysoor